Abberation
by Ravenrising
Summary: "His latest creation was his greatest in his line of thinking." Slight rambling idea into Jefferson's head. Not really a character study, but an odd idea. One-shot.


Not my best, but eh. It's slightly rushed and kind of disjointed in some places, but considering the character I'm not too concerned. No beta on this one, more a "type frantically and post because this idea needs to get out of my head" sort of story.

Maybe I can finally work on the last two chapter ideas for my Rumbelle story now.

Please review!

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><p>"Try again. Always trying, never succeeding," he cackled.<p>

He tossed his latest failure behind him, uncaring of where it landed. It teetered on the edge of a large pile. The hat was a shade of purple, existing somewhere between violet and the color of a hyacinth. Below it, haphazardly cast off, other hats in multiple shades and hues spoke of a long and tortuous battle. He had tried many shades and combinations of fabrics in the time he had been stuck in this wretched place called Wonderland.

He heaved a heavy sigh. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a bolt of fabric. It was a lovely shade of blue, one he had been saving for a reason that he could no longer recall. Lying next to the fabric was a roll of ribbon in a hue of gold that shimmered in the sunlight pouring through the high windows.

He had been stuck in this place once before, committed to a tea party that was never ending and a time that was never ticking. He had metaphorically murdered Time and so Time had halted for him. He could spend hours pondering riddles that had no answer. He developed a liking for multiple flavors of tea and biscuits gracing the table before him, laid out like a gift.

Now, however, he was trapped for a different reason. He was once again separated from the child he loved more than anything-the child he wanted safe and home with him-but it was not at the hand of Regina. He liked to believe that Emma Swan had not done it on purpose, but he could not be sure. Perhaps she had merely been thinking of him as a Hatter and not as Jefferson, the person.

He hated this strange world. Upon his first exile to Wonderland, he had committed most of his time to the creation of hundreds of hats in a bid to escape and return home. He had received moments of rest in between, the tea parties mostly, but by that first break he had already gone off the proverbial edge.

He remembers his descent into madness. It was a slow, downward winding spiral filled with moments of nonsensical mutterings. He is not quite sure when his mind finally spun out of control, but he thinks perhaps it has to do with following the same routine for who knew how many days…or years. He is quite confident that the mercury he used to cure felt was a factor. He is also fairly sure that it is because he was forced to create hundreds of hats with absolutely no success.

Dispersed throughout his bouts of crafting hats, he would often check the Looking Glass.

"Please_," he murmured. He was unsure of exactly who he was pleading with. The Looking Glass glinted in the morning light, its gilded frame giving off mocking winks. He stood in front of it, slightly hunched over as if trying to cave himself in. The expression that stared back at him seemed to flicker between rage and mourning. His eyes were wide and bloodshot-long hours of ribbons and trim, needlework and fabric contributed to that. His hair was even more matted than yesterday. Already, his breathing was labored and he could feel his heart racing._

"_Please, just let me go," he rasped. _

_Fluidly, he raised his hand and let his fingertips hover just before the mirrored surface. His hand trembled, a move that he was certain was because of the nervousness he felt and not because of the work he had done. He inhaled a stuttering breath and upon exhaling, his fingers met glass. His fingers did not pass through as if the mirror was water. They rested upon a solid surface that was slightly cool to the touch. _

"_O-of course not," he said. _

_Wind tickled his hair and he could see out of the corner of his eye the gentle sway of the tall grass. He drew a deep breath and let out a scream filled with nothing but pain. _

The tea party was a sort of therapy for him. He became good friends with Time, as well as the March Hare, the Dormouse, and a woman named Alice. Time could have been classified as his best friend, though. Time allowed him to ponder how exactly to escape this land filled with a greedy Queen, talking creatures and too many fungi. Time gave him the hope that just maybe it was frozen everywhere else, too.

His latest creation was his greatest in his line of thinking. Most of it was done up in a peach color. It was graced with a covering of a pale blue-akin to the color of the sky on a clear morning, just before the sun rises. For trim he gave it ribbons and yarn in a lovely golden shade.

He would bring it to the tea party this afternoon and show it off to his friends. He paused to contemplate it for a moment, in all its perfection and beauty. He could hear the voice of it, as clear as a bell.

"Yes, you are. We shall go and enjoy tea together," he smiled at it. With gentle hands, he picked it up reverently and folded his arms around it, leaving the mountains of hats behind him.

The never ending tea party was just outside his workshop. The sun was high and bright, but it was mottled by the tall trees surrounding the clearing. He could faintly catch a hint of lemon, but it was mostly overridden by the cloying smell of flowers.

"Jefferson!" the March Hare called out. His left ear was bent at a slightly awkward angle, covering part of his eye. The March Hare flipped his head and it flopped backward.

The table was already in disarray. Cups lay strewn across the tea-stained tablecloth. A teapot missing its spout and lid was the closest object to where he stood. He could faintly recall that teapot from his first tea party, although it had been whole at that time. The blue stripes that had once graced the porcelain were scratched and all but faded now. Scones and biscuits of all kinds were falling out of a chipped bowl.

"Hare, my good friend, it has been too long," Jefferson returned. He laughed then, but he was not entirely sure why. He is sure that had his mind been clearer, he could have worked out that he was cackling because he brought up Time again-or something along those lines.

Tiny Dormouse poked her head up from behind a teacup. Sleepily she rubbed her eyes and heaved a yawn.

"Jefferson! We've been waiting on you," she squeaked out.

"I am here now, Dormouse. Let the tea party begin!"

He took his place at the head of the table. The chair he sat in was familiar to him, although slightly worse for the wear and little clouds of dust arose as he settled in.

"I've brought a new guest, my friends," he said. Delightedly, he placed her in a chair right next to his.

He missed the concerned glance the Dormouse and Hare exchanged. Surreptitiously, they each picked up a cup of tea and decided silence was the wisest course of action.

He brushed back a golden strand of hair from her face. "Would you care for some tea, Grace?" he inquired. "Of course you would. You did always love your tea parties."

The golden ribbons and yarn that comprised her hair fluttered gently in the summer breeze. Her eyes stared blankly at the table, two blue buttons incapable of emotion. Her dress was made of blue linen, although it looked much better out here in the sunlight than in his workshop.

Out loud, she said nothing. In his head, however, she laughed and accepted. Happily, she told him of her day and how much she missed him.

"I missed you, too," he whispered. He was content.


End file.
